


Undone

by write_light



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, cock/jeans kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-14
Updated: 2010-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:56:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206114
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/write_light/pseuds/write_light
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean seems to be trying to make a point, but Sam's not  sure if he's going crazy or if Dean is.  The thought that keeps coming  to mind is "What is <em>wrong</em> with your pants, Dean?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	Undone

**Author's Note:**

> **Warnings/Enticements:** mild voyeur/exhibitionist kink, jeans, crotches and worship thereof  
>  **A/N:** Written for [](http://spnpromptcake.livejournal.com/profile)[**spnpromptcake**](http://spnpromptcake.livejournal.com/) Cycle 2 and the prompt " **undone** ". Lyrics from "Come Undone" (R. Williams) & "I've Come Undone" (J. Greene).  
> 

It started somewhere around the time "apocalypse" became a part of their daily vocabulary. In retrospect, it was probably one of the Signs that Sam had simply overlooked. Not that Dean was easy to overlook.

It started as a corner-of-the-eye ghost, a trick of the light perhaps, some Dean Winchester sleight-of hand. Sam found himself glancing, focusing, resting his eyes and lazily taking in the beltline, the zipper, the curve of Dean's cock under the denim – and then shook himself out of it. They were heading for doom, in more ways than one.

It started on April 27, 2009, in a poorly constructed motel with a neon sign that buzzed loudly enough to keep out the traffic noise but not Dean's oddly _awake_ movements around the room, stretching, showering, toweling, rummaging for clothes, and finally, dressing.

"How much noise can you make with a t-shirt, Dean?" Sam grumbled from the bed.

"Up and at 'em, Sammy. We have a doomsday to stop."

"Dean…" He started but left it. He wasn't awake yet, and Dean was pulling his pants up over his ass just as he turned his head around to complain. He got cheeks, faded jeans sliding up over them, a belt going through the loops, and when Dean turned, the faint hairs on his stomach vanishing as he zipped up, leaving the top unbuttoned. His shirt covered it and Sam slowly slumped back on the bed, his face sinking into the slim comfort of the pillow.

"Come on, Sam, hit the shower."

"Um, go get us some coffee, would you?"

"Already on it," he said cheerfully, closing the door behind him.

Sam shoved his stiff cock against the mattress, the poorly padded springs giving him images of Dean's fingers rippling along the bottom of his shaft. He blamed it on excess drinking the night before, not on the trail of hair below Dean's navel, or the _siiiiiiiiiiiiiiif_ of his jeans sliding over his ass or the rumble of the car outside as Dean started her up.

Sam's fist was around his cock when Dean stuck his head back in the door suddenly and asked, "Cream or half-and-half, I can never remember."

"Cream, Dean," he said, as calmly and non-sexually as possible, his back and awkward arm position giving Dean ammunition for weeks to come.

"Come on, shower - now," Dean said, waiting, knowing Sam wouldn't budge.

He pulled the door shut and Sam heard the Impala drive off. Sam had at least ten minutes before Dean returned. It took him 30 seconds to shoot a load all over his stomach, his balls straining after days without attention. _Was he going commando?_ popped into his head as he reached the edge and it shoved him right over.

***

Once it started, it just kept happening. Sam tried to concentrate on other things, but the pattern was repeating and his brain couldn't help but put the pieces together as much as he wanted to ignore it.

On Friday, Dean was sitting in the motel room, hunt over, monster gone, jeans undone.

Sam could see it from where he was sitting on a cigarette-burned orange chair, the corners of the worn blue jeans gaping open, the buttons below it straining – _no, that's my imagination._ He tried to focus on the TV.

***

On Saturday, Sam returned with coffee and Dean was cleaning his gun on Sam's bed. _With his pants unbuttoned._ He wasn't wearing a shirt either, but the heat excused that.

"Did you forget to button your jeans up, Dean?" he asked.

"What? Oh, yeah, guess I did."

He set the gun barrel and the cleaning rag down, and did the top two buttons up, then went back to cleaning.

***

On Sunday, Dean put on a different pair, black jeans he'd bought at the K*Mart with their one working credit card.  They fit like a glove, much to Sam's surprise. Dean pulled them up over his black boxers and buttoned the fly closed, except for the top.

"Dean?"

"Yeah."

"Are you gaining weight?"

"No, why?"

"Can't you do up the top button? Those jeans look a little snug."

"Well thanks for noticing, pervert."

Dean fussed with it for a bit and it was no longer undone.

***

On Monday, Sam woke from a nap to a loud _SMACK_ to find Dean's crotch nearly level with his face, his pants again undone. Low-riding jeans, zipper all the way up, but not buttoned. Dean was leaning way over the bed, trying to reach something.

"What the hell, Dean?"

"Sorry, Sam, there was a fly buzzin' around."

"Do you need new pants or what?"

"Huh?"

"Your pants are undone, again."

"Hunh. Thanks."

Dean buttoned up.

"Almost dark, time to go kill some demons."

Sam followed Dean to the car, still a bit fuzzy after his nap, trying to remember the exorcism and not Dean's cock running down one pant leg, a few inches from his face.

***

On Tuesday, they had time to celebrate Sam's birthday. Dean devoured plates of wings and fries, and together they made it through five pitchers of beer. The waitress was paying special attention to her two handsomest customers and Sam, for once, didn't seem to mind. Until Dean popped open his pants with a loud sigh.

"Dean! We're in a restaurant," he whispered loudly across the table.

"I ate a lot." Dean frowned at him, then smiled again as his pants spread at the waist.

Sam's glare had no effect – Dean sat there, arms behind his head or rubbing his belly, top button undone. The waitress refilled their pitcher for free.

***

On Wednesday, Sam woke up hard, and Dean was gone.  A note on the laptop read, 'Gone to get coffee. Be ready when I get back.'

Sam heard the Impala pulling up and vanished into the bathroom, cock bouncing as he ran.

Dean was eating a cruller when Sam came out of the shower with a towel held tightly over his crotch.  His cock was still red from the working-over he'd given it in the shower, listening to Dean yell something about donuts through the bathroom door.  Sam fished for his underwear in the duffel on the floor by the table, then looked toward Dean when Dean started telling him about a killing spree in the next county. Dean's legs were spread wide under the table as he tapped on the laptop, and his cock was outlined perfectly.

 _And his pants are unbuttoned. I’m losing it, seriously._

Sam found a pair of briefs and pulled them on under his towel. His cock was rapidly becoming interested in finding its familiar home inside Dean.

"Did you go out like that?" Sam asked when he'd pulled his own pants on.

"Like what?"

Dean gave himself a full looking over.

"I have everything on that one is required to have to get donuts. Shirt, shoes, -"

"Your pants aren't buttoned up."

"This pair doesn’t have a top button. It popped off the last time you washed them, I guess."

***

On Thursday, they stopped for gas and Dean got out to clean a slimy layer of summer butterflies and grasshoppers off the windshield.

Sam watched him stretching across the hood, being as delicate as he could. He kept his body up over the car so his belt buckle wouldn't hurt it. This time, though, he pressed against the car. When he got around to Sam's side, he waved jauntily and Sam's eyebrows went up in confusion.

Dean moved back along the car, seemingly wiping off the roof. Sam turned to see Dean's crotch pressed against the glass and thought seriously about rolling the window down right there and just sucking him off.  His t-shirt rode up as he stretched, and his pants _UNDONE!_ – a wave of panic hit Sam. Dean's pants were unbuttoned at the very top, showing a glimpse of the black waistband of his underwear as Dean's hips pushed against the glass.

 _You're a sick and sadistic motherfucker, Dean.  
_  
Sam spent most of the ride to the motel as hard as he could possibly be without coming right then and there, hands in his lap to cover it all up.

***

On Friday, Sam woke to music from the laptop. He dozed, exhausted from the chase the previous day, his legs aching as he stretched them out. The lyrics drifted in and out of his brain.

 _So unimpressed but so in awe  
Such a saint but such a whore  
So self aware so full of shit  
So indecisive so adamant  
I’m contemplating thinking about thinking  
It’s so frustrating just get another drink in  
Watch me come undone_

Sam was wide awake at that word. The song changed, and he looked over at Dean. He couldn't see Dean's crotch. _Just as well._

"This music library is for shit, dude," Dean said. "And it recommends the worst stuff that it thinks I would actually like and I don't."

Dean continued to click through songs as Sam watched him from the bed.

"You are seriously weird. What is _up_ this past week?"  Sam asked.

Dean ignored him, clicked on a song and stood up.

 _I ain’t ashamed to say  
That I loved you the best I could  
I think it’s safe to say  
That I must be misunderstood_

Sam wanted to ask "Who is that?" but he was staring, transfixed. Dean was wearing his old blue jeans again, unbuttoned two buttons down, and Sam could see his hair, a dark bush of it.

 _Am I in my commando fantasy? How did he know?_

Sam's face flushed, and he tried to talk normally, or look away, but Dean just stood there.

"Dude, no underwear?"

"Laundry day, Sam," Dean said casually, as if that would explain a change like this. 

Dean was strapped in, loaded up, belted, cinched, cocked and ready, every day.  Dean put himself together well, a legacy of John's attempt to raise them "as Mom would have wanted to see her sons" as much as his fierce brand of discipline.  He didn't walk around showing off his crotch, not ever.  He was _not_ unbuttoned.

 _The things I used to do,  
I just can’t do them no more  
The things I could forget  
Are now the things I can’t ignore_

"Sam, there are things more important than Lucifer and Michael."

"I can see that," Sam choked out before clamping his mouth shut.

"It's been a month, Sam. I can't keep jacking off in the Impala."

That was a lie, but a carefully planned one that Dean had been working on. He watched it have the desired effect.

 _There’s something on my mind  
These thoughts, these thoughts I cannot kill  
I keep the past behind,  
and my feet can’t stand to be standing still_

"Come on, Sammy."

 _The way that trail of hair darkens and spreads across him, god I need to see all of that._

He knew it by heart – how it ran a couple of inches out either side of the zipper, a dark accent to the white cock, a hint of hair continuing around his balls and back to where Sam could bury his face for hours.

"Make it two buttons, Dean, you might get my attention."

"I've already got your attention, Sammy."

"Three then?"

Sam could see Dean's cock swelling under the fabric. Dean's eyes were locked on his face, his hands poised on either side of his hips like he was waiting for high noon to draw.

"Four, and that's my final offer," Sam murmured.

"You're negotiating the wrong way, you know."

Sam wasn't paying attention to anything else now but the cock outlined under the thin denim just to the side of the buttons. Dean squeezed and his pants rose, then fell. Sam's eyes were dark now, his breathing a shallow, shaking sound in the stillness.

"Four then," Sam continued down the road he was on.

Dean pulled on the front of his jeans and the second button slid out noiselessly, giving Sam the base of his cock, wide and rigid. He pulled harder as the third button held, then popped open. Sam turned over in bed and sat up, his blue pajama bottoms stained dark where his cock was straining against them. Dean was momentarily distracted by this, licking his lips at the thought of cleaning Sam off afterward.

"Five and you're all in, Sammy."

Sam stood up, looking down at Dean's cock, then knelt in front of it before his headrush made him lose his vision entirely.  It was a wide, smooth arc, balls pushed up on either side, the head held tight behind the last button. He tugged at the jeans, at that last button that he needed undone.

"Took you long enough."

Dean's cock swelled and stiffened as Sam let it rub along his nose, over his lips and hard against him as he pressed his face to the warmth. He inhaled shower-fresh Dean in jeans he'd worn for all of an hour, warm, musky, his and his alone. He kissed the underside, base to tip, so smooth and soft, pulsing above him.

"You need to not button up ever again," he said, warm breath around Dean. "How long has it been? A month?"

"We can't let it go this long again, Sam."

"Your cock does not outweigh the fate of all humanity, Dean," Sam said before swallowing it.

 _But it is heavy. Always was._   



End file.
